


Hold on to me

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Ficlet, One Shot, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Tomorrow Mike will be standing in the pressroom at Wrigley Field, holding up the wrong damn jersey, forcing a smile, lying that this trade makes him happy, that all he needs is a ring to cap off his career.Tonight he needs a little of Ginny's radiance to shine on him. It’s selfish, he knows that, but the way she looks at him sometimes makes him feel young and whole and invincible again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I rewatched the whole series twice in the past two weeks, and this episode more times than is strictly healthy. This is the result. Title comes from "Unsteady" by X-Ambassadors.

“Ginny.”

She turns around, light from the gaslamps making her eyes glitter. “Ginny? That’s a first.”

He doesn’t point out that she rarely calls him Mike. For him, it started as a way to remind the guys that Ginny is a ballplayer first, a woman second. After a while, nicknames and last names became part of their routine, like the banter and sitting together when they travel. Maybe it’s fitting, but he just can’t let them part with a joke about deep-dish pizza. 

“I—”  _ I don’t want to leave. I never wanted to leave.  _

Ginny is staring, and his damn tongue refuses to move. 

Mike was the last player in the clubhouse today, the last man in uniform long after everyone else had showered and changed. He didn’t want to take it off. Tomorrow he’ll be standing in the pressroom at Wrigley Field, holding up the wrong damn jersey, forcing a smile, lying that this trade makes him happy, that all he needs is a ring to cap off his career. This isn’t the first time he’s made a commitment and been shown the door. At least a playoff run should feel more satisfying than trying to make Rachel jealous with an endless parade of groupies.

Ginny’s still waiting, and he should say  _ something_. He wants to ask her why she really lied about her date, why she left that guy, how she really feels about Mike going to Chicago. But if she’s not willing to take a risk even now, when he’s about to leave, Mike’s not going to ruin what they do have. 

She’s expecting a speech, at the very least a sincere goodbye. The words pile up inside him, his chest tight. For fifteen years, he’s watched guys come and go, waiting for the moment it would all come together. Mike’s been here longer than Oscar, longer than Al, longer than Petco Park. And it’s never going to happen, not for him, not here. But Ginny has her whole career in front of her. She puts in the work, she pushes everyone around her to work longer and harder. Even him. If anyone can drag the Padres into the playoffs through sheer force of will, it’s Ginny Baker.

She doesn’t need the speech, despite Blip and Amelia’s badgering. Mike didn’t call her for a farewell pep talk, or because she can’t handle him leaving. He texted Ginny, and no one else, because he’s tired and burnt out and tonight he needed a little of her radiance to shine on him. It’s selfish, he knows that, but the way she looks at him sometimes makes him feel young and whole and invincible again. Without her, Mike would have gone home tonight and crawled into a bottle of whiskey.

And he really wants to hear her laugh one more time. “I nailed your cleats.” 

She hits him with both her smile and her laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth in a futile effort to smother both. “I knew it!” 

Just like that, the pressure in his chest eases, and when Ginny moves to close the distance between them, he meets her. A friendly goodbye hug, short and sweet. 

Until his hand slides down her back, and Mike is holding her, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of her hair. And Ginny’s hands drift slowly across his shoulders, down his chest, prolonging the contact, her breath against his neck, their foreheads touching, noses grazing. It’s almost unbearably intimate.  

“You have an early flight,” Ginny says softly, making no move to pull away.  

“Yeah.” Chicago could sink into Lake Michigan tonight and he wouldn’t care.

Mike pulls back just enough to look into Ginny’s eyes, to make sure he’s not misreading her. At 60 feet 6 inches, he can read her mood and her stamina, knows when she’s losing focus even before her pitches start to wander. With Ginny in his arms, Mike is distracted by her warmth and her scent and the soft look in her eyes. 

Damn, she’s beautiful. He forgets sometimes, sees just the trash-talking ballplayer who started a brawl with the Cardinals and drives him nuts when she waves him off. He’d do damn near anything right now if she asked. 

Ginny leans in, and Mike closes his eyes, waiting for her.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his eyes spring open as Ginny pulls out of his arms. 

Mike knows who is calling before he looks, and he knows the instant Oscar starts talking that he’s not going to Chicago. Relief and resignation war in his chest, but he’s watching Ginny. 

And when he tells her he’s staying, he watches his rookie back away. 

 


End file.
